


Solace

by Ophelia_Black



Series: Midzel Week 2020 [1]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Mute Link (Legend of Zelda), and touch starved lesbians, hope you guys like midzelink, midzel week 2020, tbh this has a lot more midlink than the midlink week fics did
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:02:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27067591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ophelia_Black/pseuds/Ophelia_Black
Summary: Zelda comes across a very unpleasant discovery, but Midna is there to take her mind off it, if only for a little while.Written for Midzel Week 2020. Prompt: Symbols
Relationships: Link & Midna (Legend of Zelda), Midna/Zelda (Legend of Zelda)
Series: Midzel Week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1980200
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	Solace

**Author's Note:**

> It's finally here! It's time for Midzel Week! Go check it out on midzelink's tumblr!

It had been Midna’s idea, that the three of them should rest together, the better to assure themselves of each other’s safety, and neither of the Hylians had it in them to refuse her. It feels stiff and clumsy to have a body again, and Zelda is certain her walk is more of a shuffle as she leads the adventurers to the nearest bedroom, a modest guest suite for minor nobility. If the Twili feels similarly to be returned to her true form, she hides it well, her movements confident and graceful as she sweeps past them into the room to leap onto the bed.

She gives a contented sigh and sprawls out for a long moment before pushing herself back up into a sitting position. “When was the last time we slept in an actual bed, Link?”

‘It was while Fyer fixed the cannon, I think. We went to tell Telma how Shad was doing, and she took one look at me and made me go to bed,’ he scoffs, though he wears a fond smile at the thought. Though it is one of the least ornate rooms the princess had ever seen in the castle, he looks around with interest. Zelda, however, eyes the bed critically. The one in her own room is easily large enough for three adults to sleep side by side, but it would be a tighter squeeze into this one.

Link is the first to sink onto the bed, already yawning widely as he unstraps his leather braces and pulls the ancient green tunic over his head. The princess turns to give him privacy, only to find Midna looking at her, already stripped of her cloak and skirt, her hands busy with her headpiece. “Need help getting that off?” she asks, gesturing broadly at Zelda’s entire outfit, and while the question is meant with complete innocence, fire races up her face.

“No, thank you. I can manage,” she replies, in what is most assuredly an even and composed tone and not a garbled squawk. To punctuate the point, she reaches up to remove her crown, and crosses the room to place it with great care on the vanity table on the other side of the room. Zelda keeps her back turned to the other two as she removes her armor and unties her bodice, deciding to leave her white dress on over her underpinnings. It would wrinkle terribly, of course, but she found that the skirt is already torn and splattered with grime. Behind her, she can hear one half of Midna and Link’s habitual bickering (“Take off your boots too, were you raised in a barn?”), and as Midna had predicted, there is a great comfort in knowing that they are alive and well, against all odds.

By the time she’s finished, Link and Midna are already sitting in the bed, where Link had claimed the blanket and wrapped it around himself like a cocoon. At Zelda’s approach, Midna looks up, and ceases her attempts to wrestle the blanket from Link’s iron grip, instead vanishing it into twilight. She gestures for the princess to sit next to her, and when she carefully does, the blanket returns to spread across the three of them. The other two stretch out and lie down, but despite her exhaustion, Zelda is slow to follow.

Midna rolls onto her side to face her. “It’s just us here, princess. You don’t have to worry about being proper, but you do need to get some rest, all right? We both have a lot of work to do.”

There isn’t much room to lie on her stomach like she would prefer, so she moves onto her side too, gingerly attempting to settle in without touching the Twili. Her efforts are quashed, however, when she wraps her arms around her and pulls her in close, their bodies pressed flush together and Zelda’s face suddenly buried in her neck. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” Midna whispers, her voice almost inaudibly low despite having her lips nearly pressed to her ear. “I was so worried we wouldn’t find you in time.” She needn’t say anything, of course, for there were no thoughts and emotions that she could have had that Zelda did not feel firsthand. And really, could sharing a bed with someone be any more intimate than sharing a body, a soul?

The reverse is also true, that there is nothing Zelda can say in response that Midna does not already know, so she simply puts her arms around the other woman in return. Warm in her embrace, the exhaustion of the past months crashes over her, and for once, Princess Zelda does not fight it.

An earsplitting racket jolts Zelda awake, and she leaps to her feet, dragging the blanket with her, heart racing as she peers around the room through eyes heavy with sleep. Her alarm eases somewhat when she sees Midna and Link remain in bed, still sound asleep, still safe. Midna had rolled onto her back, one arm outstretched where it had been pinned beneath Zelda’s body, and Link’s head is pressed against her shoulder, his arm flung protectively across her torso. As Zelda watches, his mouth falls slightly open, and from the nonverbal boy pours the loudest snore she had ever heard in her life. She covers her mouth with her hand to stifle a laugh at the absurdity of it, though Midna doesn’t react at all, evidently well accustomed to such cacophony from her companion.

Her panic drains away, and she slumps with relief. She must have been more exhausted than she thought to have slept through the noise before, but now that she’s awake, Zelda knows she will not be able to return to sleep. She bends down and tugs the blanket back onto the bed, tucking it carefully around the pair, then moves to the vanity. A number of personal items are neatly arrayed before the mirror, and from their pristine state she assumes that they had been set out in preparation of a future guest, brand new and clean. Among them is a comb, and she picks it up, along with her crown. Zelda pads out of the room and into the side chamber, where a pair of comfortable armchairs sit before a rather plain fireplace. Setting the crown on a table, she begins the slow, methodical process of untangling her long hair.

She doesn’t hear Midna waking up and rising from bed until she drops into the other chair. “Morning,” she says, her voice low and hoarse from sleep, and Zelda greets her with a raised hand. They sit together in silence, until Midna jerks her chin towards the comb in her hand. “Need a hand with that?”

Zelda hesitates. “I don’t like people touching me,” she says, the words coming to her automatically before she can blunt them for her friend. She hates it, hates being handled like a doll to be groomed and polished and posed, her body merely a decorative piece to suit the ambitions of those who would use her. A prop on a stage… or a puppet. Bile rises in her at the thought, and she turns away. Her hands rise to her ears, her cheeks, her arms, tracing along the thin, silvery scars that she had seen in the mirror when she woke. The action is largely involuntary, and when she hears Midna’s sharp gasp at the sight, she lowers her hands again at once.

In a small, rare act of mercy, she had no memory of what Ganondorf had done with her body while she was parted from it, had known no sensation of him taking command of her limbs and forcing her to fight the Hero. What she did know, however, was the shock and horror that Midna had felt as it happened, and when she speaks again her voice is heavy with the guilt that Zelda had felt as though it were her own.

“I wasn’t strong enough to protect you from him. Will you let me take care of you now?”

Slowly, Zelda nods, and sits quietly as Midna pulls her armchair closer. She allows her to take a lock of hair and begin combing, starting from the bottom and moving up, keeping the tension between her fingers to avoid tugging at her scalp. When finished with that section, she picks up another one, and another, her movements gentle and deliberate. They do not speak, but they do not need to, fulfilled enough with their quiet companionship. For once, it felt good to be so close to someone, to let someone touch her and fuss over her. The respect with which she is treated as the princess of Hyrule borders on reverence, but she knows that Midna cares only that she’s Zelda, that she’s enough all by herself.

Eventually, Midna reaches a section of hair to be tucked behind an ear, and pauses. She too reaches out to trace the marks left there, the perfectly straight, geometric lines that had indicated her corruption. There is a slight tremor in her finger, but her voice is steady when she speaks. “These could pass for Twili markings. Look, we’re nearly matching.” She holds out an arm, and Zelda holds out hers, comparing the blue light against the new scars, a similar style in a different pattern. “Don’t think of it as a part of him, think of it as a part of me. I’ve carried your soul with me all these months, is it not appropriate that that should leave a mark?”

The notion is a comforting one, and Zelda accepts it with a slow nod. “Do they mean anything, these lines?”

She shrugs. “Nope. These aren’t runes, not like this,” she says, gesturing to the one on her thigh. “I guess they’re like…. freckles, on humans. They’re just there to be there, it’s just a part of your skin. Not symbolic of anything.” Zelda nods, her eyes fixed firmly on that blue fingertip trailing up and down the silvery lines on her arm. The repetitive motion is soothing, an anchor against the waves of horror and disgust that threaten to overwhelm her.

Eager for a distraction, Zelda opens her mouth and speaks the first words that come to mind. “I get freckles, sometimes. Usually around Din’s Day, at the very height of summer. I burn so easily,” she muses. At her friend’s furrowed brows, she explains, “Don’t laugh, now, but the sun can burn humans too, after a while.” Midna laughs anyway, of course, perhaps even more loudly for having been asked not to. Zelda shakes her head at her, clicking her tongue like a scolding parent, until the laughter dies down into a bright, teasing grin. Under that radiant gaze, she wonders if she might burn again.

“Where do your freckles show up, then? I’m having a hard time picturing that.”

“Across my nose,” she begins, gesturing, but is stopped short when Midna darts in to press her lips on the spot she had indicated. The contact is brief, but she looks deeply pleased with herself when she pulls back. Zelda gapes at her, a blush rising to her cheeks at once, the experience new but not at all unpleasant.

“Where else do you get them?”

She hesitates, but continues. “On my shoulders.” A giggle spills out in spite of herself when a flurry of kisses is pressed there, her chest tickled by dancing, fiery hair. It reminds her of the kissing games she would hear about back when she was half her age, the ones played between the kitchen girls and the stable boys who were discovering each other for the first time, and she hopes that Midna doesn’t think her too juvenile for being so easily affected. “And on the back of my neck.” Midna raises a finger and makes a spinning motion, and Zelda laughs again. “This is silly, I am not turning around.”

“This is silly, and you are.” Her satisfied smile fades, and she looks at her seriously. “Unless you want me to stop? Because I will, if you want.”

Zelda shakes her head, and hesitantly twists around in her chair. The anticipation makes her skin scream with sensitivity, and it’s with painfully slow movements that her hair is brushed over her shoulder. Equally slow, however, is the kiss on the back of her neck, lingering for several seconds. When Midna finally draws back, Zelda turns to face her again.

“If I told you I’d get them on my lips, would you kiss me there too?” The teasing words surprise her, and Midna as well, from the look on her face, though she recovers quickly.

“No,” she says easily, but leans in closer, and Zelda can feel her breath washing over her skin. “But I would if you asked me to.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Please kiss me.”

She does.

Their eyes are open at first, fixed upon each other, and when that crimson gaze holds her captive Zelda finds that, for the first time in her life, she doesn’t mind feeling helpless. The first brush of their lips together is teasingly soft, and when Zelda leans forward, Midna leans back, laughter dancing in her eyes. She lets out an undignified squeak when the princess breaks the contact to put her arms around her and draw her into her lap, and the weight of the larger body is as comforting as a thick pile of quilts. She sighs, already fully content, and closes her eyes.

She’s surprised when Midna lifts her chin to kiss her again, but eagerly leans into the touch. It starts gently, slowly enough that Zelda has time to wonder if Midna might be put off by her morning breath, before she feels fingers weave into her hair and pull her closer. The movement threatens to undo their hard work untangling her hair, but she doesn’t care, desiring only to be closer, to allow for the touch she didn’t know she craved.

Zelda melts into her, into the softness of… goddess, _everything._ Of her mouth on hers, of her skin pressed close, of her hair clenched beneath her fist, of her gaze, of her voice, of her steadfast companionship and the simple pleasure of her company, that the princess who failed her nation need not navigate such dark and turbulent times alone.

“I don’t want you to leave,” she gasps, unable to stop her thoughts turning to words, but cursing herself for it as Midna draws back at once, still seated in her lap. Her playful smile is gone, the affection in her gaze turned to stone as she guards against the conversation before it even begins. Zelda reaches out for her, cups her face in her hand, smooths her thumb over her cheek. “Please, please don’t go. I’m so tired of being alone, and you, you understand me, don’t you? You know me.”

“As you know me, Zelda.” Her voice is quiet as a tomb, and already Zelda mourns. “As you know that I have to leave, and that I don’t want to.”

“You need to be with your people, and they need you. I understand, I do. I would never wish to keep you from your duty.”

She sighs. “There’s a ‘but’ coming next, isn’t there?”

“But,” she continues, ignoring Midna’s groan, “it doesn’t have to be forever. I thought I’d lost you yesterday, I cannot bear to lose you again. Please, promise I’ll see you again.”

Midna closes her eyes, but does not pull her head away. “Whatever I do with the Mirror, it will be a decision I will regret for the rest of my life. I will either sit alone at home and wonder if there wasn’t really a way to stay with you and Link, or I will sit on the other end of another tragedy and know that I could have stopped it from happening. Are those really two equal options? My personal happiness, or the well-being of my people?”

There is nothing for Zelda to say to that, nothing at all. She knows, perhaps better than anyone, that a ruler lives and dies in service of their nation, that her own desires may bear no weight in her decisions. She knows as well that this is the first major decision for Midna to make as a princess, and knows the significance it will carry into her reign.

“No, I cannot make your promise. We will never see each other again. But that doesn’t mean I’ll leave nothing behind.” She reaches out and traces over the scars again with the tip of a finger, the contact light as a whisper but somehow almost unbearably close. “Remember the time that we spent together. Remember the way that your heart beat next to mine, the way that I saw every part of you and your life, and you saw mine. Remember that, knowing you as completely as I do, I do not wish to be parted from you. I want to keep waking up next to you and keep holding you and keep making you smile.” She manages a laugh. “And I want to see you covered in freckles and I want to kiss each one of them. Will you remember that? Will you remember me?”

“I will,” Zelda vows, and despite being made of shadow, the _ruler_ of shadows, Midna’s responding smile is blindingly bright. She does not want to look away from it, from the woman she probably loves, not for anything in the world. “If this is to be our last day together, will you kiss me again? So I can remember it better?”

The distance between them is already short, but Midna’s movements are slow and deliberate as she puts her hand on the back of Zelda’s head, sliding her fingers into her hair, and leans down to bring their faces together again. Zelda throws her arms around her, trying to hold her tightly enough that they might be as one again, trying to consume her before she has the chance to leave forever.

It isn’t enough, but it’s all she will ever get, and she savors it to the last second.


End file.
